NeedleArts
My mother was recovering from a heart attack and was constantly cold.
By the late Robin Southworth
I brought home every throw I could find. Mom found something wrong with each one.
Too scratchy. Not warm enough. Too ugly to stay in the house. She had become Goldilocks, searching for the perfect blanket.
I returned so many throws that Target and Walmart eventually refused to take them back. Out of options, I did the unthinkable: I walked into a big-box craft store, bought three skeins of pastel acrylic yarn, picked up a teach-yourself-to-knit kit, and started knitting a 4′ x 7′ throw for my mother.
She loved it. It was soft and warm and pretty, big enough to wrap around her shoulders, tuck under her feet, or fold across her lap. She loved that it worked. She loved, too, that I had made it just for her.
That’s how I learned to knit as an adult: by making something I didn’t know how to find in stores.
Two weeks before Mom passed, the throw unraveled in the wash. When the machine stopped, I gathered the loosened yarn and set it aside. I wasn’t ready to let it go.
Months later, on Halloween, I finally knew what it wanted to be. I knit a sweater from that same yarn.
It’s soft and warm. The yarn has been held, washed, unraveled, and remade. It has been loved by two people, my mother and me.
So go ahead. Knit something unexpected.
Editor’s Note: This article, originally published in 2018, has been updated in memory of the late Robin Southworth. We remember her fondly and miss her dearly.










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